


Hand Me My Leather

by randi2204



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 3K Round-up Challenge, Leather, Leather Kink, M/M, Mild Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 22:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7141475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets written as bribes, all of them revolving around Chris, Ezra and leather but otherwise unrelated. Title with gratitude to Tori Amos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Smell of Leather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mendax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendax/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** They belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy, not me. It'd have been a much different show otherwise. ^^

Tactile sensitivity was all well and good, and Ezra was well aware of his need of touch – he was forever running his hands over things to discover how they felt – but sometimes, the _scents_ of even the simplest of things made him react strongly.

 

As now.

 

Chris had not yet taken off his jacket, and Ezra stepped close to him, kept advancing until his back was pressed against the wall.  Then he leaned in, his fingers curling around the lapels of Chris’s jacket, relishing the feel of the soft, well-worn leather against his fingertips, Chris’s square, capable hands coming to rest on his hips.  With the next breath he took, the smell of _Chris_ just flooded him, racing through him like a fire in his blood.  His sex swelled and firmed as he pushed himself against Chris.

 

Chris sucked in a soft breath, bucked up a little at the feel of that hardness, hands roving now over Ezra’s sides, calluses snagging on the fine material of his shirt.

 

Chris was earthy, subtle, the sharp scent of his sweat mingling with that of the whiskey he’d consumed, the cheroot he’d smoked earlier, but even more than that, there was the leather, not quite overwhelming the rest, but combining with it in a way that overpowered his senses.

 

He shoved the coat down off Chris’s shoulders, lips pressed to Chris’s throat.  Chris shook the coat free of his arms, but even so, the aroma of leather clung to him, having worked its way through his shirt into his skin.  It was a heady thing, setting his mind a-whirl.  His fingers stumbled over the buttons of Chris’s shirt as Chris’s hand curved around the back of his head and drew him up for a proper kiss.

 

Chris’s shirt followed his jacket, and in short order, Ezra felt his shirt gape open as well.  There were only gasps between them as hands stroked skin, any other sound swallowed by their kisses.  All of Ezra’s words were lost in the need to combine taste and touch, to see Chris glow in the lamplight, to hear the sounds of his pleasure, and most of all, to breathe in the leather-wrapped musk of him as they lay twined on the bed.


	2. The Impracticality of Leather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** They belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy, not me. It'd have been a much different show otherwise. ^^

Christ, it was hot.

 

Chris swiped his arm across his forehead, but the leather sleeve of his jacket did little other than just smear around the sweat gathered there.  As soon he bent forward again over the thorny bramble, it ran into his eyes, sharp and stinging.

 

If he was at all honest, it was really too damn hot to be doing this.  Hell, it’d been too damn hot all week, so he’d kept putting it off and putting it off, hoping that the heavy clouds overhead would open up and give them some rain, just to cool down the air a little bit.  But they hadn’t, not a drop, even though he’d seen lightning arcing from cloud to cloud a couple days ago.

 

But he and Vin and Buck had already got the fence up for this section, and he’d already taken down the trees that needed to be cleared, and now all that was left was burning out the brambles and stumps.  Soon as that was done, he could use it for pasture.

 

Some folk would just trust the horse to know enough to stay out of the prickers.  But foals were inquisitive little things, and the bushes could do serious damage with their sharp thorns to young muzzles and mouths.  Better to just get this done and then let the mares and foals out when it was safe.

 

This bramble was bigger than the others, so big that Chris had been forced to put on first his leather gloves then his heavy jacket in order to get close enough with his hatchet to start chopping off some of the branches.  Between the work, the weather and the leather, he was sweating something fierce.  His hands were wet inside his gloves, squelching some in the leather fingers, and perspiration rolled down between his shoulders, making his shirt stick to him wetly.

 

The sound of hoofbeats made him glance up.  A familiar horse and rider crossed in front of his cabin and into the barn.  Blowing out a breath, he straightened, relieved to have an excuse to leave the damned bramble for a while.

 

Ezra had just given his horse some feed and water when Chris stepped into the dim barn.  Chaff and dust motes danced in the sluggish afternoon air, and it wasn’t noticeably cooler inside.  Ezra had taken off his coat and vest and hung them on a hook just outside his horse’s stall.  As he watched Ezra settle his horse, Chris noticed that Ezra’s white shirt had a darker patch of dampness between his shoulder blades, that it clung all along the length of his spine, showing the play of muscles underneath the thin fabric.

 

He stripped off the gloves and jacket, let them fall to the hay-strewn floor.  The soft thump drew Ezra’s eyes to him.  “Mister Larabee,” he greeted, bright green eyes twinkling.  The heat had put a spot of color in each cheek.  “You do have the appearance of being ridden hard and put away wet.”  He stepped out of the stall.

 

As soon as he’d bolted the door, Chris was on him, pushing him up against the post between the stalls, hands leaving damp spots on the fine linen of Ezra’s shirt, tongue diving into the hot cavern of his mouth.  Ezra’s fingers combed into the damp waves of his hair, pulling him closer.

 

When he finally had to pull back for air, he’d managed to pull Ezra’s shirt from his trousers and snuck his hands underneath to stroke the hot, soft skin.

 

“You are quite… pungent,” Ezra murmured in his ear after catching his breath.  “Perhaps a bath?”

 

“Afterwards,” Chris replied, his voice low, nipping along the length of Ezra’s neck.  “I ain’t been ridden yet.”

 

He felt Ezra’s lips curve into a smile against the side of his face. “Perhaps the bath can wait…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a bribe for Mendax, but also a fill for the [fic_promptly](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/) prompt "Author's choice, author's choice, the impracticality of leather when it's a million degrees out."


	3. Leather Against Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** They belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy, not me. It'd have been a much different show otherwise. ^^

Ezra knew without a doubt that he’d brought this on himself, but he still couldn’t quite manage to bemoan his fate.

 

It had started innocently enough – _no,_ he thought, _innocent is_ clearly _not the right word_ – just the other day when Chris had grabbed his wrist, the only part of him in his reach, before yanking Ezra back toward him.

 

Chris had just been working with one of his horses only a short while before, and was wearing his leather gloves to protect his hands.  Ezra hadn’t been able to control the shudder that wracked him at the feel of the warm, soft leather and the strong fingers encased in it closing around his bare skin, or the quickening of his breath.

 

And of course, Chris had noticed, even in the midst of claiming his mouth in a demanding kiss.  Ezra had arched into him as one of those gloved hands cradled his head, leather and Chris’s warm flesh brushing the back of his neck beneath his hair, and folded his own hands into the front of Chris’s shirt.  He’d been dimly thankful at the time that the weather was warm enough that Chris had forgone his jacket.

 

But even though he’d gasped at the first touch of leather this evening, Ezra wasn’t at all surprised that Chris had made note of his reaction to the gloves.

 

And now he was panting, hands clamped onto Chris’s thighs, as Chris’s hands, both covered with supple leather, trailed over him.  One tweaked his nipple, encouraging it to perk, encouraging him to buck up against Chris’s weight over his legs, while the other traced fingertip swirls along his side, the merest touch of leather against his bare skin.  When he opened his eyes, he saw Chris staring down at him, amusement warring with arousal in his dark gaze.

 

Suddenly, Chris’s leather-clad hands flattened against him, smoothing down his chest, his sides, and Ezra groaned, fingers digging into Chris’s muscled legs.  The earthy scent of the warm leather hung in the air, combining with the sensation of it against his skin, and Ezra couldn’t recall ever having been quite so aroused.

 

Then, hands stilled on his belly, Chris bent forward, whispered in his ear, “You like the feel?  Somethin’ like this touchin’ you, but still knowin’ it’s me doin’ the touchin’?”

 

Ezra felt a droplet of sweat trickle down his temple into his hair, felt the way the words reached right into him, and he could only lick his lips and nod.

 

Chris’s grin widened and he straightened away.  Then one hand trailed down over his groin and stroked against his inner thigh, and Ezra moaned at the touch, a sound that felt like it came from the deepest part of him.

 

Chris made an approving noise, and continued to tease him with the lightest of touches against his balls until he was quivering with the need for release.

 

Without warning, one gloved hand curled around his sex.  Even though he’d been hoping for it, anticipating it, it was still a shock to his sensitized skin, and he made a keening noise, thrusting up into the loose grasp.

 

Chris’s fingers tightened a little, stroked up, gloving his cock in leather, and Ezra couldn’t contain himself.  He trembled and arched and climaxed, nearly sobbing in relief.

 

It was a long while before he could open his eyes again, and when he did, it was to see Chris peeling off the gloves and tossing them carelessly to the floor.  He followed their arc off the bed, then glanced back at Chris, who leaned forward again, his sex hard against Ezra’s hip, bracing himself with his forearms near Ezra’s head.

 

It was an effort to speak, but he licked his lips and managed.  “Enjoy yourself?” he asked, eyes low-lidded.

 

Chris smirked down at him, sliding slowly against his hip.  “Not as much as you did,” he replied, and kissed him hungrily.  “But I’m gonna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Mendax as a bribe, but it is also a fill for the [fic_promptly](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/) prompt "Author’s choice, author’s choice, the feel of bare leather against skin."


	4. Leather Riding Crop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** They belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy, not me. It'd have been a much different show otherwise. ^^

In the dirty mirror behind the bar, Chris noticed JD’s approach to Ezra’s table, but he didn’t pay it much mind.  Ezra had ridden in from Ridge City just the day before, returning from St. Louis and a visit with Maude, but now he was in his usual seat, dealing a desultory solitaire game, waiting for the unwary to come and ask for a poker game.

 

“Why, JD, what is this?”

 

Ezra’s surprised… and yes, pleased tone made Chris turn so that he could lean one elbow on the bar to survey the rest of the saloon and pretend that he wasn’t focused on that front corner near the windows.

 

JD was still standing, his back to Chris, and a long thin bundle wrapped in cloth rested on the cards in front of Ezra.  “Just… while you were gone, I was wonderin’ why you’d just all of a sudden gone to visit your mother when she didn’t send you a telegram or letter or nothin’, and Chris said it was prob’ly ‘cause it was around your birthday… which, y’know…”

 

“He did, did he?” Ezra glanced away from JD to glare at Chris.  Chris met that scowl with a lazy smirk, which only seemed to make him angrier before he returned his attention to JD.

 

“… I mean, you coulda told us…” JD had continued speaking, oblivious to the by-play.  “But anyway… I thought you might like it.”  He made a motion with one hand, and Chris could clearly see him bouncing with enthusiasm now, as if he were the recipient of the gift instead of the giver.  “Go on, open it!”

 

Somehow Ezra managed to hide his anger and – perhaps – feign pleasure as his nimble fingers plucked at the biggest knot holding his gift closed.  Once he had it open, he paused, and Chris saw the strangest expression come over his face.

 

Frowning slightly, he straightened away from the bar and edged closer.  He knew what it was – JD hadn’t bothered to keep it a secret – but he didn’t know why it provoked Ezra’s reaction.

 

JD was more focused on the fact that Ezra had gone silent.  “Is… is it all right?” he asked, hesitant now.

 

JD’s tone brought Ezra’s wide-eyed gaze back up from the cloth covering and what it contained.  “JD,” he said, and his drawl was thick as honey, “I am… simply speechless.  Wherever did you find such an exquisite example of equestrian equipment?” Ezra ran his long fingers down the dark leather riding crop.

 

Good humor immediately restored, JD bounced up on his toes once more.  “I made it.”

 

“You… you _made_ it?” Ezra studied the riding crop once more, and this time, he sounded impressed.  Chris sidled closer still; he hadn’t yet seen the finished crop.

 

“Yeah!” JD was flushed now, embarrassingly proud at how well his gift had been accepted.  “See, Mister Harding kept hunters, and sometimes when they came back from riding, one of the party had broken their crop. As long as the tab wasn’t split, there was usually enough leather that I could get another piece of cane and fix it up good as new. Vin helped me find a tab, but I did the rest.”

 

Chris’s lips twitched a little at how puffed up JD had become.  _Much more, and we’ll have our own little rooster,_ he thought, then caught sight of the crop as Ezra picked it up.  The hard leather end – the tab, as JD had called it – was about two of his fingers wide, set into a flexible piece of cane and the entirety wrapped in twined leather cords.  The handle was slightly thicker than the cane shaft, and appeared to have been wrapped in twice the thickness of leather.  At the butt end of the handle was a braided loop.

 

As Ezra turned the crop over in his hands, Chris thought he saw something along the length of it, and looked closer.  There was a subtle variation in the shades of the leather, some slightly darker, some lighter, and the way JD had woven them together showed off those different colorations in a pattern of diamonds, down the thin cane shaft and into the tightly wrapped handle.

 

It was Chris’s turn to be impressed.  He’d never had much use for whips before, but this one was downright pretty.

 

“Thank you, JD,” Ezra said at last, and Chris was able to hear the sincerity in his voice.  “It is almost too fine a gift to use.  I am… most grateful.”

 

JD’s cheeks reddened even further, but he was grinning wide enough to split his cheeks as he put on his hat and ducked out of the saloon.

 

“Ain’t you gonna put that in the livery?” Chris asked later, watching Ezra lay the crop on his dresser with great care.  He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back a little against the pillows.

 

Ezra frowned at him in the mirror, and Chris suddenly recalled that Ezra was likely still put out with him for letting slip why he’d gone to St. Louis.  “Have you no sense of civilization at all?” Ezra asked sharply. “A crop such as _this_ does not belong in the _livery_.”

 

“Well, you don’t wear spurs,” Chris pointed out – quite reasonably, he thought.  “Might need somethin’ to get that ornery horse of yours over a jump sometime…”

 

Ezra turned around to glower at him directly.  After a moment, his face cleared and he looked first thoughtful, then downright devious, and that made Chris take note right quick.  “Ezra,” he said, putting a note of warning into his voice, “what’re you thinkin’?”

 

Instead of answering, Ezra nodded toward Chris’s feet.  “Please take off your boots before your spurs rip my quilt to shreds.”

 

Slowly, Chris bent over.  The request was one he’d heard time and time before, but the light dancing in those light green eyes…

 

As soon as his boots were off, Ezra swiftly bent and snatched one, then quickly unbuckled the spur.

 

“Hey, what’re you doin’?” Chris half-stood, reached out to grab it back, and nearly got hit in the face as Ezra tossed the boot back at him.

 

“Just sit down, Mister Larabee.” Ezra’s voice was muffled as he rummaged in his closet. “I shall return your property to you in good order.  Ah.”  He pulled something from the floor of the closet, then… took off his own boots, only to stamp into a different pair a moment later.

 

“There is a very great difference between the crop and the spur, Mister Larabee,” Ezra said, his tone one of light humor.  He picked up the crop from the dresser then returned to the bed, dragging the straight-back chair with him, and Chris saw that he was now wearing boots with a slight heel, very like Chris’s own.  As Chris watched, puzzled, Ezra propped one booted foot on the chair and strapped on Chris’s spur.

 

A jolt went through him at the sight, and he could only stare, mouth open slightly to breathe, because it seemed like the air went mountain-top-thin.

 

And Ezra _kept_ his foot on the seat of the chair, pants-leg pulled up so as to not get snagged on the spur, leaning forward a bit to rest his arms on his upraised knee, the crop dangling from one hand.  Chris’s eyes drifted up the muscled length of his leg to his hip and back down again, riveted on the spur.

 

“As I said,” and now Ezra’s voice had lost that edge of humor; it was slow, soft, pitched to coil into all those places inside of Chris that set off sparks, “there’s a difference between the crop and the spur.  I believe I could raise more welts with this,” he tapped the crop very lightly against Chris’s cheek, “than with this.”  He flicked the rowel of the spur with his finger, made it chime.  “What do you think?”

 

Chris swallowed, dragging his eyes away from the spur to Ezra’s face with an effort.  Ezra grinned, drew the tab of the crop along Chris’s cheek to brush against his lips.  “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, then pulled the crop away to press his mouth against Chris’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Mendax as a bribe, but also a fill for the [fic_promptly](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/) prompt "Author’s choice, author’s choice, a leather riding crop."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mendax as a bribe, but also a fill for the [fic_promptly](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/) prompt of "Any, any, the smell of leather."


End file.
